Dragon Hearts
by DashieXSoarin
Summary: Based hundreds of years after Eragon, so far into the future that the land has changed entirely, and is no longer even called Alagaesia! Niegel is a rich teenager in the town called Vagran, far north, planted on the ruins of where Roran had rebuilt Carvahall. His life seems simple enough until his grandfather reveals multiple secrets...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: Destructive Forces

**The Southern Forest of Achren **

"What is happening?"

"The Bow, it is becoming itself again!"

"The Bow of Achren? Ves Dernit?"

"Yes! The Bow is glowing! She will come to us soon."

"Who is it? Where?"

"We don't know. But she is not close. Probably farther north. We must hope she reaches us before the next Sialten. It approaches."

"If she does not come, we will be destroyed. All of us."

"Then we must hope that fate will bring her safely to us."

"Indeed."

The Eastern City of Rayhn KhramThe cave loomed above him. The guardian of the eggs, the last two. One silver, one blue with splashes of blood red across the diamond-hard surface. His spear felt heavy. A stirring was in the air, a change in the way the wind flowed. The forest was deep in the sleep brought by the celestial moonlight. The white crescent queen of the night sky shone without hindrance. The guardian looked at the eggs; their padded pedestals remained untouched by time. None had laid a single finger on the eggs in six years. A soft noise alerted him back to his senses, and he placed his left hand on his sword. Sea-blue eyes searching the trees for the trespasser, the guardian brought his spear around to point at wherever he or she might come from. Another guardian stepped out. Her long silvery hair reflected the moonlight, and her hazel eyes pierced everything they gazed at. "You are relieved from duty," she said, a seductive tone to her voice. "Very well. Any news from the city?" "None, but it seems that the Bow of Achren has begun to emit a soft glow once again." "That is good news." "Hopefully."

She walked into the short cavern built into the ground, where the two glittering eggs sat on their padded cushions, unmoving and undisturbed. The guardian watched her for a moment, then turned his back and began to move silently toward the road that led back to the city.

A sudden flash made him whip his head around, paining his neck and pulling the rest of his body in a tight half-circle. The cave was lit up with light. He dashed forward, almost running into the other guardian, who was backing away from the eggs. "Did you touch one?" he asked breathlessly.

"No," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I was merely admiring them, and the silver one set off like a flare." She took another step back. The silver egg rose off the pedestal, a few inches above the cushion, and began flashing repeatedly. The sound of quick footsteps reached the guardian's ears, and he stepped to the side and held out his spear in order to hold off the trespasser. When he saw the red circlet of fabric around his forehead, he immediately recognized the Reader of the Runes. Bara Diche was his name, and he was still fairly young. The guardian stepped back, and the Reader sprinted by, stopping before the egg. He watched intently as the egg spun thrice to the right, still flashing, and then a series of complicated characters appeared on the egg. Each rune flashed a single time, then set back into the egg as if it had always been there. Thirteen runes total, nine above the other four, flashed into the surface of the egg.

The silver sphere suddenly dropped back onto the pedestal. The Reader very slowly picked up the egg, turning the runes away from the two guardians. A second pair of feet, and a third, came from outside the cavern. The guardian watched his king and his two royal guards appear in the clearing. The king held up his hand and the guards stopped, turning back to the forest to ward off possible dangers. The king stepped into the darkening cave, placing a hand on the Reader's shoulder. "Has it happened?" he said.

Bara Diche turned his head, and nodded, face pale. He read out loud the words set into the egg, a name and a location. The guardian didn't know the person, and he had only been to the small town twice in his long life. _Vagran? That remote place? _He thought.

The Reader set the egg back down on the pedestal, his hands shaking. The king ordered all out of the cavern, then waved his hand over the earth. A solid stone wall two feet thick slid out of the ground and moved slowly upward until the top of it clicked flat against the roof of the cavern. "You two," he motioned to the guardians, "stay here. You will be relieved in the morning." To Bara Diche, he said, "We will leave in two days' time. This is important. Rest now, and be ready for the journey. It is far. A week's travel. Thank you for your services. Return to your home now." The Reader slowly walked back into the trees. Then the king left with his guards, and the two guardians were left alone in the night, guarding the entrance to the now invisible cavern.

**Vagran, North, above the Kiedron Mountains, located in the Carlon Valley**

The woman opened the door, slipping into the massive house silently. The bundle in her arms lay quiet, and her feet made no noise on the floor. Across the massive room, decorated with paintings, a fireplace inlaid with gold, and an ornate table, the woman quickly dashed up the stairs, looking in each dark room before finding her father in the last room, a pair of candles burning at a table and a book open in front of the elderly man. Calmly, he looked up at her face, her dark brown eyes reflecting the candlelight. "My daughter," the man whispered. "It has been four years. How have you fared?"

"Well enough, but I have been seen. They are after me."

"What?" the man sat up, his eyes staring intently at his daughter. "What have you done?"

"That's just it. I don't know what crime I have committed, but still they pursue me. I cannot take my child on the run. I risk his life as well as mine if I bring him. Will you take care of him?"

The old man reached forward and took the baby from his daughter's arms. "Where is the father?" he asked.

"Dead. I came home and he was dead, a large cut across his chest. After I buried him, I gave the house and property to a neighbor and fled. I have to go, else they catch me and kill him too." The woman leaned against the wood wall for support, her shoulders sagging.

The man looked at the baby, then back at his daughter. "I will raise him. Return here if you can, and escape those demons that chase you. Head far south. Use my horse. Supplies are already in the saddlebags. Go, my daughter. Fly far from here. Worry not for your son. I wall take care of him."

A look of relief came over the woman's face. "Thank you, father. Do you know someone who can feed him until he is older?"

"Yes. One of my maids can attend to him."

"Good. I must go now, father. Best of luck, and let no evil befall him." The woman started to leave, closing the door slowly. Before it clicked shut, however, she pushed it back open again. "Oh, I had forgotten," she looked at the baby in her father's arms. "His name is Niegel." Then she closed the door, hiding her face, and disappeared.

**Trovis, West of Vagran, by the Lake of Kaminara**

The couple sat together, close, watching the baby sleep. The man's wife had given birth to a healthy girl, who now lay in her crib, silent. Joy had spread around the town, as many knew the family and were glad to find that the wife had finally conceived and bore a child. The baby twitched in her crib, knowing nothing else but her sleep and her frothing, misunderstood dreams. The town lay quiet. Nothing disturbed the night.

**South of Trovis, in the lightly forested area**

"Is she there?" whispered a voice.

"Yes, she is the one. What of the boy?" whispered another.

"Alive, in Vagran. An old man is taking care of him. The mother has fled, though our sources cannot tell us where."

Anger coursed through the second voice. "Find her, or I swear your head will hang on the walls of my hall till it rots and the maggots come for it!"

The first voice was silent for a few moments, contemplating the threat. Then, "As you command, master."

"Good. Bring her dead or alive to me. I have…business…with her."


	2. Chapter 2

1: Rich Life

Niegel sighed. He loved his life. Rich, happy, powerful. The townspeople of Vagran all respected him and his grandfather. He had all he would ever need. Books, money, lots of it, clothes, and power. He wanted for nothing, and anything he might happen to want he usually got. He was sitting in a large room fitted with four lush couches, a few chairs, and a massive fireplace laced with gold that currently lit up the room with light and heat. Niegel lay on the cushions of one couch, which was covered in blue fabric. He wore a green shirt, dark, long pants, and black boots covered his feet. He had lived with his grandfather for seventeen years, and didn't know who his parents were. His grandfather refused to tell him, only saying that his mother had asked that he stay here, then she had left. But after a few years of asking, Niegel gave up any prospect of meeting his family. A portrait of his mother hung above the fireplace, so he at least knew what she looked like, but it didn't seem enough. When his grandfather told him that his mother had not named the father, Niegel had thought at first that his mother might be a whore or a prostitute, but he discarded the thought almost immediately. His mother wasn't like that. She couldn't be.

Niegel's grandfather walked down the stairs, the polished wood not creaking at all. The fire snapped loudly, and the embers collapsed into one another. Niegel always found fire fascinating. His grandfather, Kenton, was wearing a simple black shirt and long black pants, with worn hunting boots. "I am going into town today," the elderly man said, stepping onto the floorboards. "Feel free to do whatever you want, but if you could cut some firewood that would be excellent." Niegel nodded and his grandfather opened the door, to the large deck outside. His footsteps faded, and Niegel stood. The fire was low, and beginning to fade. _If I'm going to cut firewood today, it might as well be now, before I see anyone, _he thought.

Niegel walked outside, noticing the clouds in the air, covering the blue sky and cutting the sunlight. A storm was not something the town needed. The river had flooded its banks after the winter snowmelt, and seven houses had been destroyed. Only two of those houses had been rebuilt; the others still lay in ruin. The families were taken in by a few sympathetic neighbors, and were given a number of charity items. Clothes, food, candles and flint and steel. Niegel's grandfather had proffered a large amount of money to the families, which helped the two buy new houses, and two others were building new properties further from the river.

Niegel walked across the porch, which looked out over the entire town. The mansion was on top of a hill, with a fenced road leading all the way down. He stepped off the wooden planks and walked around the side of the house, to where the axe and wood were. Niegel and his grandfather could have hired someone to cut the wood for them, but Kenton had insisted that Niegel start using the axe when he was ten years old. Niegel had complained that it was too heavy and he didn't want to, but did so anyway. After a few years, he began relishing the task, telling himself that it would help keep him fit. Despite his life of ease, Niegel kept having the feeling that he weighed too much. The axe was his rescuer from these thoughts, the hard physical labor convincing him that he was strong. And he was, his grandfather had told him so, many times. He was strong, powerful, and lived like a king.

Niegel picked up the ax, rubbing a spot of dirt off the iron blade. Holding it near the blade, he set up a cut piece of wood, which had been sawed clean from the trunk. The wood was dry, having been sitting on the grass for a few days untouched. Thinking of nothing else, Niegel brought the ax over his head and swung downward with all his might. The blade of the ax sung almost all the way down through the wood. Niegel pried apart the two pieces with his hands, then placed both pieces on the growing pile next to the house.

Over an hour, Niegel had grown the pile of wood considerably. He set the axe against the house, rubbed his hands together, then walked onto the porch again. The sun had risen fully, coating the town of Vagran in a bright red-orange color. Only a few people were moving around on the gray cobblestone road that cut through town. Niegel and his grandfather lived on the south side of town, and from the hill the house was built on, Niegel could see almost the entire town. Only a few remote farms and houses remained hidden from view.

Niegel stepped off the wooden parch and onto the grassy, fenced-in path that led down the slope and to the town. He had some money in his pockets, though not much, because he had always held a fear of being robbed. Fortunately, it had yet to happen, but surprises were everywhere. He continued walking, his black boots hitting the earth, in a rapid, even pace. After a minute, he came to the bottom of the hill, where the stables sat. Niegel's grandfather had had them built at the base of the slope because he didn't want the noise of horses and the smell of the dung lingering over the house. The man who tended the stables, a servant Kenton had hired, walked around the back, rubbing his hands on a cloth. "Good morning to you, Master Niegel. Your horse, today?" He smiled.

"Thank you, Jarsif, but no. I have no need of him." Niegel said, turning back to the road and continuing his brisk walk. The first building he passed was the forge. The noise of loud banging reached his ears, and black smoke puffed out from the chimney. Niegel kept walking, his boots crunching against pebbles now, until he stopped in the center of Vagran, where a fountain stood, water flowing from the top and splashing back down to the bottom. The water was crystal clear, not a leaf or even a smudge of dirt disturbing the vibrant blue. Niegel moved on, passing a number of stores, then stopped in front of the tavern. Several people were inside; Niegel could hear the footsteps and loud voices. He stepped onto the front of the building, where several empty chairs sat. Niegel continued into the tavern.

Eight people sat in various chairs at various tables. Three women and five men. The owner of the tavern, Chalsiro, stood behind the bar, cleaning a few mugs. A roaring fire sat in the corner, bringing light to the dismal room. Niegel sat at a table, and instantly one of the several servants dashed over to him and asked him if he would like anything. "Just some bread," Niegel replied, not looking at the man. He listened to the footsteps hurrying away. Niegel turned to watch the orange flames leaping up around the wood in the fireplace.

Minutes passed. Niegel sighed. Two more people, a man and a woman, walked into the tavern and took seats with a few others and began making loud conversation. He did his best to ignore them. The servant brought him his bread, and he handed the man a few coins. "Thank you, Master Niegel," he said. Niegel nodded, then turned back to the food. A fine cheese was placed next the five slices of bread, as well as a dull knife. Niegel drew the knife across the cheese, slicing part of it off. He placed the slice on a piece of bread, and bit into it. Though cheap, the food that Chalsiro served in this place was delicious. The servant returned once again to collect the plate and knife when Niegel finished, and asked if he could be of any more service. Niegel asked for a cup of coffee, then handed the man another coin.

Niegel walked away from the tavern, his stomach full and his body warm from the food. Many more people were out and about, walking to various locations. A few men were carrying large loads, probably to sell in the marketplace. Niegel headed to a landlord's house, one he knew his grandfather would be visiting, because several issues had occurred with him and his property. The man lived on the other side of town, farther north, with all of his property renters living near him. Niegel headed down the road, wanting to hear the arguments that would take place. His grandfather Kenton was excellent in the art of persuasion, and usually his opinion pulled through.

The landlord Herast slammed his fist on the table. "No!" he shouted. "I will not let these worthless _beggars _control me! I own the land, they pay their dues to me, and they can stay. It is not very complicated!" he paced back and forth across the office. Niegel sat in a chair by the door, watching intently.

"I understand your plight," Niegel's grandfather said. "However, you charge far too much from these people. You said yourself, they are _beggars_."

Herast glared at Niegel's grandfather. "Then why don't you give them money? You, my oh so powerful superior, are wealthier than me by tenfold. You could supply the money and buy them all acres of farmland," he sneered.

Niegel narrowed his eyes. His grandfather continued to keep his calm demeanor. "You seem innocent enough in your request," he said, "but keep in mind I am a very intelligent man. I would give them money, but it would only go straight to you. So in reality, I might as well give you the money, and let them wallow in the gutters."

Herast smiled. "That would work as well."

Kenton frowned. "Too many complaints have been sent to me, too many death threats. If I don't do something about it, someone will get hurt. It might even be you. So I highly suggest, and most respectfully request, that you lower your taxes."

Herast opened a drawer in his desk, and took out a few coins. "This is all a man has given me while he has been living on my property. How am I supposed to pay my taxes to you when I don't receive my own income properly?!"

Kenton was still calm, but his face started to turn red with anger. Niegel tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair. "Technically, the money does not go to me. The king sends his tax collectors every month, and I am the one who hands over the dues. Though as I have not heard from the king in a number of months, I am unsure of whether or not the collectors are intercepted and robbed. Maybe killed. One can never know."

Herast hit the desk again. "Get out of my dwelling!" he yelled. "I am sick of you and your twisting words! Just leave!" Kenton stood quietly. He studied Herast's face for a minute, then stormed from the room. Niegel stood as well. Herast looked at him. "Well what the hell are you waiting for? Get out!" Niegel narrowed his eyes, and left the room.

Under his breath, Niegel whispered, "Jealous, just a little?"

Kenton was waiting for him outside. "Did you learn anything?" His grandfather asked.

Niegel smiled. "People with some power want the power of those above them. Power creates jealousy, jealousy breathes spite, spite spawns lies, and lies result in dead men. Simple, really. He is powerful, but not as much as he would wish."

Kenton returned a small grin. "You are a smart man, Niegel."

"Thank you, grandfather."

They left Herast's property and started walking home. The sun was higher in the sky, indicating midday. A dog barked loudly from somewhere to Niegel's left. He ignored it.

Once again sitting in a chair in front of the fire at home, with a book in his hand, Niegel was calm and at peace. Nothing disturbed him. No one summoned him. His life was excellent. And he thought nothing could change it.


	3. Chapter 3

2: Mysterious Gift

Later that day, as Niegel and his grandfather were sitting down to a meal of venison and bread, with tea, a knock was heard on the door. Niegel set down his cup and placed a hand on his knife. It was a habit he had picked up, after a few robbery attempts on Kenton. Niegel stood, and Kenton walked to the door. He pulled it open. A stranger stood outside. A hood was pulled over his face, covering his eyes. Dark robes enshrouded the rest of his body. A symbol was sewn into the fabric across his chest. It looked like a sword, resting above a strange character from a foreign language. Kenton did not looked at all surprised by the person's visit. The man whispered a few words, which Niegel did not hear. Kenton responded just as quietly.

Putting his knife on the table, Niegel moved closer to the door. The man's head turned slowly. Staring back, as calmly as he could, Niegel waited for the man to leave. Something about his presence unnerved him. The stranger whispered again, and once again Kenton responded in kind. Niegel, as close as he was now, still could hear no discernible words. Suddenly the stranger turned around, a blood-red cape flapping around on his shoulders, and walked away. Kenton watched for a moment, then closed the door. He turned to Niegel. "Finish your meal. I am leaving for a few hours. Do not worry. I know you can take care of yourself now." Niegel's grandfather strode up the stairs. Niegel returned to his food, downing the meal in a few minutes. Shortly afterward, Kenton came back, wearing a similar cape to the one the stranger had been wearing, and wearing gray robes. The surprising changes were a heavy belt, with a slim sword and sultan's knife attached to it. Niegel narrowed his eyes. This was odd.

"What is all this?" he asked his grandfather.

"I haven't always been this old, Niegel," he answered. "I used to be part of a group of warriors that assisted in keeping the peace in the most unnoticeable way possible."

"Did my father do this as well?" Niegel leaned against the wall.

Kenton did not respond. He opened the door, stepped outside, and closed the door again behind him. The lock clicked into place.

Niegel listened until he could no longer hear his grandfather's footsteps, then ran up the stairs two at a time to his room. He opened a drawer and removed his black cloak from it, then donned it and clasped the front with the metal brooch. It settled comfortably on his shoulders. Once again going downstairs, Niegel made sure the door was locked, took his hunting knife from the mantle above the fireplace, and headed for the window. Pushing it open, he climbed outside, finding his father walking down the road toward the outskirts of Vagran.

Niegel closed the window, determined to find out what this was all about. Who was that man, and why had he come to his home this night, and what did Kenton have to do with him? Holding his questions, Niegel dashed down the path, and to the stables. The servants were gone, and Kenton was barely visible. Niegel climbed on top of the stable building using a window and the lip of the roof. Able to see farther, he tried to make out where his grandfather was going. The eastern end of town. Few people lived in that area. Various farmers. The odd person. However, there was an old building that was run down, formerly the home of one of the previous magistrates of the city. No one had touched the property for years. _Unless..._

Niegel swore and dashed across the roof of the stables. Timing his feet, he jumped from the building to a shop a few feet away. His feet hit the thatch and slipped, but he caught himself on the smoke shaft. Standing slowly, Niegel continued his night run across rooftops, sliding to the ground when necessary. After a few hundred yards, Niegel stopped and tried to spot his grandfather.

There. Walking quickly, holding the lantern close to his body. Niegel checked his belt, made sure his knife was tight, and leaped from the roof. He hit the old, dusty road, feet first, and bent his knees, rolling forward to his right shoulder and placing a hand on the ground to steady himself. His grandfather stopped. Niegel did not move.

A minute passed.

Kenton turned and continued his quick pace. Niegel stood and followed, as quietly as possible. He used the shadows of various trees to conceal his presence, and as he followed farther and farther down the road, the ruins of the magistrate's house came in sight. Kenton neither slowed nor stopped, but continued straight on toward the dusty, forgotten, run-down structure. Cursing again, Niegel stopped behind a tree several lengths behind Kenton. Pressing his back against the rough bark, he peered around the trunk. Kenton looked around, walked into the middle of the house, where a section of roof had caved in, and disappeared. Niegel dashed toward the house, dropping to his knees behind another tree, a large oak. Leaves littered the ground, and several fresh pairs of footprints pressed into the ground. Disturbed leaves had been pushed aside by boots and the earth underneath revealed. Niegel placed his left boot in an adjacent print and followed the steps, leaving few tracks of his own. He continued in this manner until he came to the battered and torn door of the old house. An old sign had been stabbed into the ground, reading: _Unsafe, stay away. _Niegel ignored it and tried to determine where his grandfather had stepped in order to avoid more destruction of the building.

A spot in the shape of a steel-toed boot penetrated the layers of dust on the floorboards. Termite trails wound away in the wood. Niegel placed his boot in the space, then his other in the next. He looked at the sky, noting the position of the moon. Nearly midnight. He continued until his footsteps began cracking the wood underneath his boots. Looking around for a door, a passage, something that would lead somewhere hidden, Niegel stepped off the prints and began moving bits of rubble as quietly as he could, trying to find something that would lead him on.

Moving a wood door frame from on the floor, Niegel noticed a rusty, iron handle stuck in the wood. Very quietly, he slid his gloved fingers underneath the handle, and pulled, ever so slowly.

A loud scraping made him stop. Waiting for someone to appear, he stood silent, still grasping the handle. After a few minutes of no noise, Niegel resumed pulling on the handle, until he could rest in on the creaking floorboards, opening a dark hole under the house. A dusty ladder led down into the pit, where a torch rested against a stone wall. Niegel made sure that not a soul was watching him, then carefully and quietly placed his foot on the first rung of the ladder. The wood creaked under his boots, so he forced himself to stop every few steps in order to attract no attention. The ladder extended a very long way down, perhaps fifty or so feet, before Niegel's boots struck solid stone. There was a small light down a long tunnel, so he set to walking as quietly as possible, a quite slow gait, before he heard voices.

"Does he know?" one said.

"No. I haven't told him yet." Kenton. Niegel held his breath.

"You must! He is near eighteen years of age!"

"Relax, Miardin. There is seven months of time before the Sialten. We have two months to prepare, and then we have a week to get out of here and move south."

"I can't relax! Every day those damn assassins make another kill. It could be you or me next. You and I, we remain hidden, but we have no idea how long they have been searching and whether or not they have found us yet." Niegel heard a scraping sound, then a soft thump. He used the noise to step closer to the voices.

Kenton spoke again. "Niegel has no idea. If he finds out, before the crescent moon, then we may have to leave earlier."

Deciding now that he should intervene, Niegel pulled out his knife and took a step. Before his foot hit the floor, there was a rush of sound, and suddenly something hard hit his back and his stomach, then he felt himself flipping through the air before he landed on his back on the cold stone, breath flying from his lungs. His head hit the floor and lights flashed across his eyes. His knife was no longer in his hand.

A shout pierced his ears. "Enough, Miardin! Leave him!"

Niegel breathed slowly. His head hurt horribly, and cold steel was pressed against his neck. His eyes wandered over the stone ceiling, then found his grandfather standing over him. He tried to stand, but his head seemed to explode, and a hand was holding him down on his chest. He moaned with pain.

"What the bloody hell are you doing down here?" Kenton asked harshly.

"You tell me," Niegel muttered. He tried to move Miardin's hand from his chest, but the man held an iron grip.

"Miardin, release him." Niegel's grandfather said. The pressure left Niegel. He stood.

"Explain yourself," Niegel demanded.

"I shouldn't have to."

"I don't care."

"Insolence! Is that all you want to know? Why I'm down here?"

Niegel narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. I told you; I am an assassin."

"You said nothing of the sort."

"I did! You just didn't listen properly. How much did you hear?"

"Enough to make me angry that you would leave me in the dark for so long. That you would lie to me for this long! How long have you been harboring secrets? What the hell is the Sialten? And what haven't you told me?" Niegel clenched his hands into fists.

"If you want answers, you'll get answers. But I swear you will not like them."

"You know what, I don't bloody care what sort of answers they are, JUST TELL ME!" Niegel clenched his fists and glared at his grandfather. The old man sat down in a chair that seemed to be made of metal and wood.

Kenton leaned forward. Miardin stood next to the wall, a close eye on Niegel. Kenton spoke: "Do you want the long version or the quick version?"

Niegel didn't speak.

"Very well. Now, before we get into it, would you like a chair?"

Silence.

"Never mind the seating. Water?"

"It would be appreciated." Niegel said through clenched teeth.

"Miardin, get the boy some water." The younger man hastened to do so.

"Now, before we come to the area of information that you seek, you must first understand what we, the Guild of Silence, do. We are assassins, who took contracts with various people in order to maintain the peace and earn a bit of money." Miardin came back with a cup of water, and handed it to Niegel. He nodded thanks. Kenton continued. "The Guild was originally conceived by the first master, Silence Amakane. Amakane was known to be the stealthiest and silent of spies in the army in the Silver age, roughly two hundred years ago. He was so good, too good, in fact. So good, that during the third war of the Three Kings, he accidently slaughtered four hundred men from his own army, due to an accident from false intelligence and disruption among the enemy armies. He was exiled, and banned from the kingdom. He and a friend left the city and Amakane started building his own team of assassins. He wished to atone for his actions, so he disguised himself thoroughly and went among the kingdom. He took out any targets that he believed without a doubt that they were a threat, and always, on all of his kills, he would carve an 'S' into the victim's flesh."

Niegel sipped the water. It was lukewarm. The clay mug was warm against his hands as he listened to his grandfather. The old man continued speaking: "The guild's assassins were told after several years that Amakane was close to death. He wanted the people he had recruited to continue his work, and to recruit others to help. Just before he passed on, he chose a boy called Everan Taremas as his successor. The boy was taught by Amakane's most trusted assassins, and raised as one of the best. He was given his first assignment at the age of fifteen, to kill a tax collector stealing large amounts of money. The mission was successful, and he was rewarded greatly. However, on his mission, Everan found a book in the target's office. In the books was a codex, but Everan could not read it. He spent his life trying to decipher it, without success, and left his mission to three other assassins. Those three were simply known as Marek, Tarlin, and Daskun. Those three were the only survivors of the guild." Kenton stopped, short of breath.

Niegel set his mug down on a table. "What do you mean, the only survivors? What happened to the rest?"

The elderly man leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Miardin knows these details far better than I, he will tell you."

Miardin leaned against a wall. The underground room was dank and cold. "After Everan died, roughly eighty years after Silence created the guild, someone from the inside betrayed the group. The current leader of the guild was a woman this time, named Terraliya, or 'fear' in the hidden language. She was on a mission from which she never returned when the guild was attacked by three thousand soldiers of unknown origin. Marek, Tarlin, and Daskun were commanded to take the book and run west, toward the ocean, which was the only thing that kept them alive. Every other assassin was slain, except one. However, he died shortly after the attack from a severe wound to his spine." Miardin stopped for a moment. Niegel sipped his water again. The man continued. "Tarlin, one of the three, persuaded the other two to give him the book while he ran to the north. Marek and Daskun decided to reinstitute the guild in the city of Ristvanae. Marek went to the northern side of the city and purchased a plot of land where he began to construct a tower, while Daskun went around the various areas and districts looking for a few recruits.

"Daskun found eight men, one of which was Hukaren. Hukaren was a known mage in the city, but found quite a bit of skill in alchemy and poison. Daskun took several days to convince him to close his business and join the guild. This took place roughly fifty years ago. Now, Tarlin went north, as you know, and founded the city of Trovis, where he hid for twelve years. Then he disappeared. No one has heard from him since he last spoke with a colleague in Vagran. No one knows of either the colleague or Tarlin."

Niegel drank what was left of his water. "So how the hell do you and my grandfather fit into this story?"

Kenton looked up. "For one thing, you insolent boy, it isn't a story. Second, I was one of the recruits that Marek found after Daskun and he had finished construction on the guild tower in Ristvanae. I set out with Daskun many years later after I had finished my apprenticeship and we travelled to Trovis, in order to create a connection between the cities. There is one now, in Trovis, as well as Vagran, Kantien, Livas, Mardris, and Yazakuis. Each of these cities has a guild leader. Miardin is the leader of the guild in Vagran, which meets here every full and half-moon."

Niegel nodded to the man, new respect for him appearing in his thoughts. Turning his head back to face his grandfather, he asked, "What is your importance in all of this?"

Kenton leaned back against his chair. "I am an ambassador," he said, "for the last of the surviving three assassins. Marek still lives, though he is very old and close to death. He asked me to become his representative many years ago, before I had grown this old."

Niegel blinked. The whole of the story seemed believable, but so outlandish that he wondered how he could possibly have anything to do with it. "So what were you going to tell me before we ditch Vagran and go wherever you think we are?"

Kenton sat in silence for a minute. Then he pointed at Miardin. "Get it," he said.

"What? No! We have to wait!" Miardin started toward Niegel's grandfather.

"Get the hellish thing! I don't want to hide it anymore! If Niegel wants it, he gets it. If not, then I'm going to destroy it!"

Miardin stood quietly for a few seconds. Then he stepped back, turned, and placed his hand on the wall. A marking appeared on the wall, then an outline of his hand in small red points. Light flashed from each point, then a part of the wall moved in with a hiss and shifted to the left. Miardin reached into the wall, his arm going into it up to his shoulder. Bringing his hand back, Miardin stepped away from the wall, holding a silver object in his hand. A perfect sphere of what looked like marble, except it shone silver. Words were printed on the side of the sphere: Niegel, Vagran.

Niegel read the words, then shook his head. What sorcery was this? "Tell me what this means," he demanded.

Kenton stared at him. "It means you will accept whatever choice you make and the consequences, side effects, results, and anything that becomes of it. This object was brought to me by an extremely old race, an almost incomprehensive sentient being. They told me it was yours. I'm telling you that you can take it and have the chance to become king of the world, or leave it and have the chance to become the chancellor of Vagran and take my place after I'm gone."

"Sir, you should tell him what it is. Then maybe he can choose." Miardin stepped forward and handed the silver sphere to Niegel. It was heavy.

Kenton nodded to the sphere. "That," he began, "is a dragon egg." Niegel stared with wonder at the silver glory he held. "The elven king brought it to me a week after you were born, shortly after your mother left. Said you were destined for it, that it had chosen you. Of course I thought he was crazy, but he threatened me and I was forced to take it and hide it for you. He said it would hatch on your eighteenth birthday."


	4. Chapter 4

3: Complications

Niegel stared for the fourth hour at the dragon egg. His birthday was in six months, the day he would leave his grandfather's mansion with a sum of money and purchase a house of his own, and begin searching for a wife. However, that could wait. For the moment, all he needed to do was pretend like the previous night hadn't happened and continue with his daily life. Niegel set the egg down on the mantle above the fireplace and walked calmly outside. He strode around the house, and picked up a few dry logs that had been cut weeks ago. He carried them back inside, pushing open the door with his foot and setting them down next to the fireplace. Pulling some sticks and a handful of dry grass from a bucket, he built a small pyramid in the fireplace, stuffed the grass under the sticks, then took the flint and steel from their case. Gripping the steel, he struck the flint across his knuckles and sparks grated off the steel and into the grass.

Niegel repeated the process a few times until he had a decent fire burning in the room. Placing a log on top of the burning sticks, he straightened and walked to the multiple shelves lined with books. He pulled down his favorite one, a history book of Vagran from the perspective of a young woman, and dropped into a rocking chair to read.

Later that evening, Niegel left the house and walked down the hill toward the stables at the bottom. Jarsif greeted him and brought out his horse, a mare that he rode from time to time. Jarsif saddled the horse and walked her out onto the path, and Niegel mounted. Kicking the mare lightly, she trotted forward and away from the mansion. There was a massive field between the river and the town, which was excellent for riding. Niegel snapped the reins and kicked the mare again, and she began to run, sprinting clear across the field, wind whipping around Niegel's hair.

The sunset was turning the sky a flushed red-and-orange color, the massive sun sinking below the horizon the west. The few clouds turned blood-red, and light reflected off the river. Niegel pulled the mare's reins, and she slowed to a brisk walk. The river ran quietly through the field toward the desert and into the lake beside Yazakuis. Niegel dismounted the mare and kneeled beside the water. Dipping his hand into it, he felt the cold liquid swirling around his knuckles and continuing as if there was no disturbance. The pebbles at the bottom were gray and black, swept here by some ancient water source years ago. The river had been here always, it seemed. The town of Vagran had been founded roughly fifty years ago, so the town was new. Niegel expected to see a city built somewhere up North beyond the Keidron mountains, though the King's architects had yet to come over the mountains and into the Carlon Valley.

Sifting his fingers into the soil at the bottom of the creek, Niegel picked up a small rock, polished smooth by the flowing water and the soft earth. He brought it out from the water and put it in a pocket. He had an odd habit of picking up random bits of interesting things and keeping them. He had built a small box years ago for such things. Niegel stood and returned to his mare, seeing the sunset and wanting to be home. The fire and his book awaited him, and hopefully a hot meal.

Upon entering the house, Niegel could smell the fresh bread from the oven and some sort of meat roasting in the fireplace. His grandfather was sprinkling salt and other spices on the tripe. Walking up the wood stairs, Niegel pulled the stone he had taken from the river and bounced it on his palm a few times. It was lustrous, with a hint of redness and a sort of black, mixed with a rosy pink color swirling among the others. He walked down the short hall until he came upon his door. Pushing it open, he stepped through and removed his cloak. Letting it fall onto his straw bed, he found the box containing his oddities and opened it, placing the stone inside and returning the box to its place. Dropping his hunting knife on his wooden dresser, he unclipped his belt and placed it in its drawer, among other various objects.

Falling back onto his bed, he let out a sigh. Seventeen and a half years ago, elves had come to Vagran and given the silver dragon egg to Kenton, passing on information to him regarding the time in which the egg would hatch. Kenton was also part of a legendary guild of assassins, who had assisted in keeping the peace of the kingdom for many years. His grandfather specifically was an ambassador for Marek, one of the three assassins who had fled the original guild. Suddenly Niegel realized something. Both stories, however interesting, didn't fit together. His grandfather's little narration had done nothing to explain the reason why the dragon egg had his name written on it!

Niegel quickly got up and sprinted from his room, not bothering to close the door. He ran down the stairs and found Kenton waiting for him at the table. Niegel skidded to a stop at the mantle and grabbed the egg, faced it toward his grandfather, and slammed it onto the table. "Why does this have my name on it?!" he exclaimed.

"I cannot explain this to you, boy!" Kenton shouted. "If I could, I would have already! And I thought I already spoke of my occupancy in great deal."

Niegel clenched his fingers around the silver sphere. "Your little story about assassins does absolutely _nothing_ to explain the existence of the egg, why it's here, and why the bloody hell it has my name on it! In fact, you mentioned the elves not even once during you explanation! I want answers. And I want you to give them to me straight. Now."

Kenton sat quietly. He folded his hands and placed them on the table. Niegel remained standing, his breath slowing down. Silence ensued. Seconds.

Minutes.

After five minutes of silence, Kenton stood from his chair. "I don't know." He said simply.

"What?"

"I don't know."

"How the hell can you not know?! You're the one the elves came too, you're the one who should have the information!"

"I don't know! If you want answers, I bloody well don't have them. Miardin has a better memory than I do. He might be able to help. Find him tomorrow. The guild is north of the town. Now eat, and stop talking about this. It annoys me." Kenton stood and removed the meat from the furnace, setting it onto a stone tablet and placing that on the table. Bread and butter accompanied it.

Niegel had difficulty eating. His thoughts were too clouded.

Niegel awoke to see the sunrise. He always liked seeing it, because he had a theory that every single one was different, and he would never see the same one twice. Pushing his head out the window in his room, he felt a warm breeze washing over the town. Quietly closing his window, he put on his cloak, belted on his dagger, and walked down the steps. His grandfather hadn't woken yet, which was beneficial to him.

Niegel left the mansion, and sprinted down the path, ignoring Jarsif, who offered him his horse as he flew past. Ignoring the yells from his servant, Niegel continued running, until he saw the wall of the house he used for leverage. Sprinting straight to the wall, Niegel pushed himself, using his feet, up the wall, and used his hardened muscles to pull himself onto the roof. Catching his breath, Niegel walked to the edge of the roof, backed a few feet, then sprinted and jumped across the five foot gap between the two houses. He jumped across the next gap to land on the roof of the blacksmith, which was warm against his feet. Each rooftop was different than the last, thatched, brick, stone, wood. But each was just as easy to leap to and from. Niegel headed north, dropping to the ground and walking like a sane person. He smiled to himself. He liked running on the buildings.

His grandfather had said that the guild was north, so he'd head north. He took the first road he saw, which, unfortunately, went straight through the poor district of town. It saddened him that his grandfather refused the help build better homes for the people. He had only given them land and a little money, but hadn't put in any effort to actually directly helping them. Niegel sent the families money whenever he could, but it wasn't often, so it didn't help much.

Walking along the road, he saw few people conducting business. He offered greetings to whoever he saw, but he tried to maintain his pace and not stop for anything. He was offered bread, but he turned it down and told the woman offering it to him to give it to her family. He kept walking.

Eventually the houses came to an end and the road stretched through the farmer's fields, along the fences. Niegel saw a tall building in the distance, rising perhaps seventy-five feet into the air. Multiple windows lined the stone walls, and a flag was pressed against the wall, with an insignia on it that looked like a bird holding an arrow in its talons and a cross on its left wing. The bird was red, and the flag behind it green. Niegel walked faster. He started to get excited. He would finally find the information he was after.

Answers.

Niegel slowed his pace as he neared the door to the building. His heart pounded. A few steps. Just a few.

He turned the brass knob and pushed open the wood door. A shout greeted him.

"Niegel! Come to join the guild, have you? Welcome!" A large hand pressed on his shoulder. He greeted his friend Dram, a stocky man a few years older than himself, well-muscled, an apprentice in the forge. Niegel shook his hand, then searched the room, which surprisingly had a large number of people in it, for Miardin. He didn't see the man, so he began weaving through the people, recognizing several, who greeted him as if he had plans of staying. Niegel quickly returned the greetings and kept moving. Finding the stairs, he stepped up, and, taking one last sweeping glance of the first room, he sprinted up the stone steps.

The next room had only two people in it, neither of which were Miardin. He found a second room on the same floor, and opened the door. A roaring fire was in place, but no people were occupying the space. A large glass window was at the back of the room, and sets of shelves sat against both walls, covered in books, of many sizes and odd shapes. A few chairs and cushions lay around the room. An intricate rug covered most of the floor.

A voice sound from behind him. "I can answer most of your questions." It said.

Niegel turned. There stood Miardin. He was wearing a set of leather armor, a falchion sword was strapped to his belt, and a crossbow was slung across his back. "Why the battle gear?" Niegel asked.

"I am about to embark on a mission. My sources in Ristvanae have located a major leader of the Black Army, our current enemy. I am going to kill him and return with a valuable object he has stolen from us." Miardin stepped farther into the room. "So, what questions might I answer?"

Niegel sat down in one of the chairs, finding it rather comfortable. "My grandfather informed me that you were more capable of answering questions than he was. I disagree, but I thought that maybe you could actually help. I want to know exactly how and why the elves came to Vagran with a dragon egg marked with my name."

Miardin sat down. "Do you know anything about the history of dragons or elves?"

"Only what I have read. Nothing more."

"Then I will have to start with a basic explanation of how the eggs hatch. Shall I order tea to be brought up?"

Niegel nodded. "That would be nice."

Miardin called a name out the door, and soon a servant came walking down the hall. His boots were loud as they hit the wooden planks. He nodded at Miardin's request, and left immediately. Miardin shifted in his chair, looking at Niegel. "I would ask that you not ask any questions while I am talking," he said. "Now, where to start…ah, I know. Seven hundred and forty-two years ago, to be exact, the dragons were sighted for the first time by the elves. They of course, seemed to be first for everything, innovation, technology. At the moment there is a rumor going around that they have something that can create explosions, and my sources tell me they are attempting to open up a gap in time. However, this is unimportant at this time. The dragon eggs were given to the elves with an agreement signed by a magic quill that cannot be unwritten. The contract forged was to prevent the eggs from being destroyed while in the possession of the elves. By then, humans had made contact with the elves, and the bravest troops that they had were sent into their woodland territories to forge another contract, but this one for peace." A knock on the door interrupted him. He turned and received the tray with two cups full of steaming liquid, as well as a bowl of cream and another of sugar. Miardin thanked the servant, who bowed and retreated from the room. Miardin returned his attention to Niegel, handing him a cup of the steaming liquid.

"Each egg, for a reason unknown, in the presence of the elves, seemed to flash at a random time, and rise into the air, then characters would mysteriously appear on the egg and it would fall back down. The characters were names and locations, so the current elf king, Calliedrun, sent two runners, one with a message and the other with the egg, to each town or city that was inscribed. They brought back each person, as well as the person's family, for the name always, without exception, _always _was an infant. The elves and the family raised the baby, and when the child turned eighteen years old, the egg would hatch for the designated person. The silver egg your grandfather gave you was brought here seventeen and a half years ago. About two weeks after you were born, the elf king and the Reader of the Runes, whom is a designated elf who studies the egg and reads the names and locations, came here to Vagran. They asked for your parents, whom your grandfather explained had died, and they gave the egg to him to hold until you were of age. I cannot find out, for the elves refuse to tell me, why they stopped bringing the families to the forests to be raised. They left after your grandfather received the egg. We have heard from them only once since then."

Niegel sipped his tea, thought it a bit bitter, so he filled a spoon with sugar and poured it into his cup, stirring the liquid. Why hadn't the elves come to find him? And why hadn't they taken him back to the forest? Niegel thought that he might have liked growing up with elves far more than with his grandfather. He had always liked the woods, but his grandfather didn't especially find congenial him going into the woods alone. But what his grandfather didn't know was that Niegel had secretly spent a copious amount of money in buying an excellent hunter's bow. He had hidden the bow underneath the floor of his room, along with a quiver of two dozen arrows.

He looked at Miardin. "What did they say when you saw them last?" he inquired.

"Not very much. Only that as soon as it hatched, you were to depart for their realms. Your grandfather, naturally, was decided against this. We argued several times over the matter."

Niegel leaned back in his chair, sipping the tea. "Why the hell does no one ever ask me my opinion?" he asked Miardin.

"You were too young at the time to understand. And we couldn't plant doubt in your mind for fear that you would turn against us and do something foolish. Each year we debated on telling you, but I suppose after our little incident under the ruins of the house we didn't need to tell you."

"That doesn't change that fact. I was still old enough, perhaps four years ago you could have told me. Do not take me for a weakling with no knowledge of the world."

Miardin swallowed his tea. "I have no custody over you, so it wasn't my decision to make. Your grandfather is old and wants what he believes is best for you."

Niegel frowned, and looked out the window. Vast fields of grass extended north of the town. The terrain two hundred miles away had yet to be charted by the king's men. The sky was clear and blue, and the ground was coated with a blanket of red, yellow, and brown leaves fallen from the oak trees and pine trees. He wished he could be free of the enslavement of being a respected lord. Turning back to stare at Miardin, Niegel asked, "When are you leaving for your mission?"

Miardin frowned. "Within the week. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm going with you."

Niegel walked back along the road, proud of himself for making his own decision. Normally his grandfather thrust all the options on his shoulders, then when Niegel chose for himself, his grandfather would call him foolish and choose otherwise. The sun was well beyond the horizon now, and Kenton would be up and looking for him. The houses of the poor slid by his gaze, but this time he ignored all offers of respect. He would let no one influence his decision.

A few minutes later he decided to stop in the tavern for a drink and some bread. Walking into the building, he was hit with loud voices and heat from the fireplaces. Grown men sat at several tables, while a few housed only women, who were gossiping freely about their husbands and servants. A few boys were playing a game in a corner. Niegel sat down, and removed his cloak. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his forehead. A servant came for his orders and Niegel asked for coffee and bread.

Shortly the food came and Niegel indulged in his breakfast. The bread was warm and the coffee was sweetened with sugar.

As he enjoyed the meal, he noticed a rather small person leaning against a wall. A hood covered the person's face. Avoiding the person's gaze, Niegel uncomfortably finished the food and started walking out, leaving payment for the food on the table. Once free of the stuffy room, Niegel began a quick pace toward his home. Turning back once, he found nobody following him, and he slowed and walked with more confidence.

A hand grabbed his neck and jerked him to the side of the road, between two buildings. Another hand covered his mouth. Rough leather slid between his lips. His attacker was wearing gloves. His head was shoved against the wood walls of the building, and he was able to see his assaulter.

The hooded person. The person asked a simple question: "Where are you going when you leave with him?"

Niegel's heart raced. "Ristvanae. Why?"

"That does not matter to you. The only thing that does matter is that I am going with you. No questions. You will convince him to allow me to travel along, and if not, people will get hurt." The hooded character slammed his head against the wall and Niegel's vision went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

5: One Simple Word

_Niegel pressed through the crowd. It felt like thousands of eyes were watching him. One thousand dagger stares from five hundred hateful people. His vision flickered. His world turned blood red. Symbols appeared in the air, then faded. He blinked, but couldn't make the objects disappear. Everything vanished but the symbols. The flashed and repeated themselves over and over again. "What the hell do they mean?" Niegel said to himself. Before he could deduce an answer, the earth turned black._

Once again in his wondrous life, Niegel awoke in a bed that wasn't his, in a strange house with a strange person. He rolled onto his side and looked around the room. Simple, spruce wood building. No more than four rooms, small, inconspicuous. Niegel stood and was glad to find he was wearing the same clothing. Suddenly memories flashed through his head and a tear rolled down his cheek. His home was gone, his grandfather was dead, and…

Niegel started. The egg! How could he have forgotten it? He had to get out of here. To go home, find the silver dragon egg. If he lost it, who knows what could happen. Whoever had sent it to him would be furious. Niegel rubbed his eyes, then walked outside the room. Almost immediately his life could have ended. Something shiny came flying toward him at an unimaginable speed. Niegel was glad he had decent reflexes. He ducked and the blade slammed into the doorframe. He hit the floor and looked up. His hooded adversary stood above him, holding the hilt of the sword. "What the hell?" Niegel asked himself quietly.

"What the hell?" the person said in a higher voice than he remembered. "What the hell is that I am giving up my time and life to help you not lose your miserable one, which is a far sight worse than mine, so you should be nothing but grateful. Stupid fool. You are not fit for that egg. It should be mine, but as the dragon did not choose me, I cannot make such remarks. And don't lose the damn thing, or I'll take your head off and take it and the egg back to the elves."

"You don't have to go around swinging swords at my bloody face!" Niegel retorted.

"You're absolutely right. Your face is bloody. Here, you should clean that up," she tossed a damp rag at him. He caught it and stared at it. "Oh, yes, and take this. Miserable wench." The person dropped the spherical egg on the floor. It bounced once and rolled into Niegel's hands. He scooped it up and held it close to his chest while he wiped his face with the rag in the other.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Exactly seventeen hours. Your house has been scoured for anything worth salvaging and all of it was taken to a location known only by me, you, and Miardin. The 'secret' room underneath the old magistrate's house. Oh, and we're leaving in about twenty-one hours. I'm going to get some sleep. Ruin anything, I ruin you. Food is on the table. Your essentials for the trip are there also. Keep your bloody hands off my stuff."

The hooded person walked into the room behind Niegel, yanked the sword from the wood, and slammed the door. Niegel entered the kitchen and found some bread and water, and a bit of dried venison. He downed a bit of the liquid, soothing his parched throat. While eating, he examined the egg to ensure that no damage had come to the silver surface. Finding none, he set it down and looked through the other items. His cloak had made it through the flames, as well as his favorite knife, and his bow, although none of the arrows were with it. A few articles of clothing, and something odd hanging from a pocket in his cloak. Pulling it out, Niegel looked at a pearl necklace, with a single, tiny diamond set into the biggest pearl. Niegel stared at it, wondering who's it was, then saw the tiny piece of paper attached to it. Pulling it away, he read the words: _Razeya Tihlun_.

"What the…" Niegel muttered to himself. _Is that a name? If it is, whose is it? Why is it on this? _He tucked the paper in one of his pockets and chained the jewelry onto his neck. He threw on his cloak and clasped the brooch over his chest. The diamond and pearls were hidden beneath the dark fabric. He slung his bow over his back, securing it, clipped his knife and an extra to his belt, finished a loaf of bread, drank a bit more water, and sat down on a chair. He stared at the walls, the roof, the table. The room was dark, the only light coming from a few candles on the mantle. Niegel suddenly remembered all his experiences recently, his meetings with Miardin, his assault by the person who he was now in close quarters with, and his grandfather's murder. Bile rose in his throat as he recalled the sight. Pain hit him from all sides, striking at his head and threatening unconsciousness.

Forcing his train of thought back to the present, Niegel dropped his extra clothing onto an empty spot on the floor and fell upon them, trying to press his mind into the pleasant clutches of sleep, but he could not. He could only lay, and stare at the ceiling of the small room, and try and connect the name to someone he might have known.

_Razeya Tihlun_.

A rough shove woke him. Niegel pushed himself awake and stared into the green eyes of his new travelling companion. He started and stood quickly. His shoulder burned. He felt dazed. Through a dank window in the wall he could see that it was pitch-black, deep into the night. "Hurry up," the hooded person said, "or I'll leave you behind, and I have a good mind to. Get your stuff. I'm waiting for the signal."

"What signal?" Niegel asked, unfortunately rather loudly.

"Shut up."

Niegel, annoyed, closed his mouth and put his clothing into a bag, checked his weapons, his provisions, and the gleaming, silver dragon egg. It was tucked securely in a corner of the bag.

"Let's go," his guide said. "and hurry up, or he'll leave without us. And I'm sure as hell not missing this opportunity." His persecutor grabbed all of his belongings and headed out the door. Niegel swept his hood around his head and followed. Miardin sat outside, three horses with him, one of which he sat on. Niegel's mare was next to him. He threw his bag over her back, climbed into the saddle, and took the reins. The hooded character did the same. Miardin pushed his horse forward, toward the main road out of the town. Niegel turned and saw the remains of his home, for the first time since blacking out. It was barren, dusty, destroyed, black. Gone.

Niegel spurred his mare forward. His companions were some distance ahead of him, and he hurried to catch up. The moon was black as the night, and the stars were the only source of brightness that permeated the darkness. The trees loomed hauntingly on either side of the wide path, making the world seem dark and dismal, even more so than it already was.

A few hours into the night, Miardin had them stop and make a fire. He set out a bit of food for them, and sat back, pulling out a bone-handle pipe and pressing tobacco into it for a smoke. Niegel's companion created a fire exceedingly quickly, and Niegel rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. While Miardin turned food over the fire to heat it, he said, "Dear friend," pointing at the hooded character opposite the fire. "Do tell us your name and your business."

He leaned forward, hood drooping over his face. "I was born in Trovis, and lived there most of my life. I grew up in a middle class family, I had money, I had food. But a bastard son of a bloody dog showed up three years ago and tore it all away. He killed my father, enslaved my mother, and while I watched from underneath a spare bed, he gutted my baby brother like a fish." Niegel shuddered, but refrained from commenting. "He never found me. From that moment I swore revenge. I want to find out who that man was, why he slaughtered my family, and then I am going to make him hurt. In as many ways as possible. My mission now is to find help, someone to train me, to make me powerful. I don't need friends, I don't need allies, I simply need a teacher. And a hell of a good one too."

"I understand your motives. However, do you understand what you are attempting to accomplish? The best teachers in the world reside with a race nearly inaccessible to all humans, with a very few, _exceedingly few, _select persons. The elves have almost never exploited such a large amount of security since the War of Three Kings. Back then, no living thing excepting themselves was allowed into their realms. Anyone who attempted trespass was executed. And several did. They are not so strict at this time, however they are exceedingly careful. If you show even a split instant of treachery you will almost instantly no longer exist. You are making a brave move, sir."

Niegel shifted his position. His interest had spiked.

He responded, "I hope you stop calling me 'sir', else I may take offense," he chuckled, and lifted the hood from his face.

Niegel stared in shock.

_He was a She._

The girl flipped the hood back. Her face was slightly tanned, her hair black as a moon-deprived night. Her eyes, such eyes, green as a snake. Her face was hardened and had multiple scars, yet she was exceptionally beautiful. Niegel's face burned red. He glanced at her chest and found it odd that he hadn't noticed before. She gave him a dark stare. Niegel looked away. Miardin raised his eyebrows, then continued speaking. "What is your name, girl?"

She pushed her hair out of her face. "I am Kalvya. That is all you will know. My descent is of no importance. You will assist me in getting to the elves, however long the trip may take. I will do whatever may be necessary for my survival."

Niegel blinked, and stared at the fire, and the meat roasting slowly over the coals, contemplating what he'd just heard. He'd been assaulted by a _girl _for days. Knocked out, knocked down, pulled off walls, forced into submission. He had never considered feminine characters to be powerful, excepting elves. That one nearly his age or even older than himself easily overpowering him was almost incomprehensible in his mind. He tore himself away from the past and focused on her, trying hard not to gaze upon her body. "Why did you choose to come with us?" he asked. "Many trains and groups and foreigners have come and gone in the past months, why could you not have chosen one of them?"

"Well, first, if I had, I would be answering the same question, for they would say the same. Allowing your ignorance, I chose you and Miardin for the reasons of intelligence and uniqueness. You are not normal, Niegel, and you are an assassin and have contact with the most powerful race short of the dragons, Miardin. I would not dare reveal my sex or my identity to any person I find I would not be able to trust. Should I do so, my body would be vulnerable to pain and unpleasantness. I have found that Miardin has refused to consume any sort of alcohol, and that you, Niegel, however ignorant and foolish, are compassionate and not exceedingly stupid. As much as I dislike the male sex at the moment, I cannot travel alone. I ask once more, to ensure your answer. Will you escort me to the elven realms?"

Miardin leaned back, while Niegel started removing the meat from the flames.

The assassin stared at the stars, smoke trailing from his pipe, the smell of salted meat and wild rosemary and lavender wafting around the area.

"Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

6: Forgotten Comforts

Niegel woke and threw his blankets from his body. He checked his belt, threw his cloak on, rolled up his belongings, and clasped them to his mare. His eyes lingered on Kalvya for a moment but he quickly averted his eyes and returned to his tasks. Miardin tossed him a bit of bread. He motioned with his finger and Niegel stepped toward him. "When she wakes up," Miardin whispered, "do not speak with her. I will talk to here, and if she asks you a question, answer, but please don't speak. It is better to be thought a fool than to prove it by speaking. We need her to raise her opinion of you." Niegel nodded and kicked the ashes out into the grass. No one could know they had been here.

Kalvya woke and stared at him, then she smoothed her clothing and stood. Niegel ignored her and climbed onto his horse. The mare trembled from the early morning chill. Kalvya snatched up her few belongings quickly and mounted her stallion. Miardin handed her food and started his horse into a quick trot.

The morning sun glared into their eyes. Niegel shielded his eyes, but quickly removed his hand from his face when he found that he was the only one doing so. Kalvya was clearly hard-worn and Miardin had the experience of a grown man. Niegel had lived a soft life most of his years. While his mare trotted across the dirt, Niegel pulled the dragon egg from the saddle bags and stared at its flawless surface. It seemed to vibrate in his hands. He noticed Kalvya watching him, her eyes hardly open underneath the hood she wore. Niegel wondered if she had slept the night before. Miardin suddenly stopped. They had reached a thin stream. The assassin ordered them off their horses to refill the water skins. "We have approximately three days to reach Yazakuis, where one of my contacts is waiting for us. We should have no trouble. There is a clear road to the town, however thieves tend to appear now and then on this road. Kalvya, do you have a proper weapon?"

Kalvya reached behind her and pulled out a concealed short sword. "It was my father's. I will not wield another weapon save a bow."

Niegel nodded in approval, then dismounted from his horse to fill his two water skins. When he stood up, he found that he recognized the area from a single previous visit he had made with his grandfather. He drank some of the water, then restored it again in the stream. The sun beat down on him.

Miardin and Kalvya were already mounted, as Niegel pulled himself into the saddle. The horses forded the stream easily, the water hardly reaching above their hooves. After approximately an hour of walking and looking at the beautiful country, his skin began to feel slick with sweat. Looking at Kalvya, he noticed she was bent over on her horse and breathing heavily. Miardin, however, was facing the elements and proving to be a strong leader. Niegel drank a bit of water, the cool liquid soothing his throat. Though winter had ended a pair of weeks ago, the sun had quickly warmed up the Carlon valley. Bits of snow were still scattered in various places underneath trees and shrubs but were quickly melting and being overtaken by the fast approach of spring. The brown grass had patches of green scattered in it, and flowers had begun blooming. However, the sights did not help Niegel with his body condition. The relentless sun seemed to sear through his skin.

After another pair of hours Miardin had them stop. Kalvya was trying to keep her head up, and Niegel had consumed half of his water. The dragon egg was sticky with his sweat, as he had begun rubbing his hands on the surface to keep them cool, although it didn't seem to help, but he continued the pointless exercise. Time was available to waste. He glanced at the sky. The sun was blindingly bright, and on the horizon masses of clouds were piling together. A breeze had kicked up, but not quite an annoying wind. Miardin dismounted, a signal for Niegel and Kalvya to do the same, and he lead his horse underneath a small copse of trees separated from the main forestry. Niegel was relieved by the shade that the short birch trees provided. The sun was glaring on them like some eternal fire intent on destroying the earth. Kalvya wiped her forehead with a rag, then tossed it to Niegel, who did the same. Miardin seemed untouched by the heat, but Niegel noticed the gleam of sweat around his face.

Miardin sat down on the grass. "You've done well. The last student I had with me would not restrain himself and I was subjected to a constant stream of complaints about the weather. I am pleased to see that you both contain at least a portion of restraint. Now, I must instruct you on the proper use of your strengths, however I must know what your specialties lie in. Niegel, you have a bow. I would like to see you use it. See that, there?" Miardin pointed to a crook in a tree several lengths away. In the tree there is a small knot in the trunk next to the gap. Attempt to hit it."

Niegel pulled out his bow, strung it, tested the string, and decided it was good. He brought out his quiver from his bags, and removed two arrows. He nocked the first, pointing the flint tip out across the clearing. The target was nearly a hundred feet away, judging by his estimation, so he angled the arrow a little above. Thankfully, no wind blew through the fields. He could feel Kalvya watching him. Niegel pulled the string back to his cheek, closed one eye, aimed, and released the bow. The wood vibrated in his grip and the arrow flew straight. With no wind, it didn't drop as much as he had expected it to, and the arrow slammed into the trunk a few inches above the target.

Niegel let his arm drop. He sighed, disappointed with himself. Kalvya pushed him aside and took the bow. She picked up the second arrow from the ground, and followed the same motions Niegel had, but hers seemed more fluid and graceful. Kalvya pulled the arrow back, farther than Niegel thought the bow could handle, and released. The arrow flew straight and fast, and lodged itself into the knot, a little bit away from the center. Miardin nodded with approval. "Well done. Niegel, you were born into a life that would not allow you many escapades into the wilderness to practice these things. Your skills are exemplary, however. Kalvya, I am not going to ask when you learned this, or why, but I would like to know who taught you how to shoot."

"I taught myself. I am ashamed to say that it took some bit of thievery to acquire my own bow, but the result was a priceless skill." Kalvya sat back down, her head gathering a new layer of sweat. Niegel could feel the heat still as well.

Miardin gazed at her curiously, then returned his stare to Niegel. "Go fetch the arrows, and we will try something else." Niegel reluctantly set of at a jog to retrieve the shafts. When he reached the tree, he saw the arrows sticking approximately fifteen feet off the ground. He jumped up and grabbed the lowest branch, hauling himself into the leafy canopy. His own arrow slid from the trunk easily, the second however, the one Kalvya had fired, was stuck into the trunk past the flint tip. Niegel decided to leave it instead of possibly having it shatter in his hands and put agonizing splinters into his fingers. He jumped down, bending his knees on impact with the grass to absorb the shock.

Kalvya was standing over Miardin when he returned. Miardin was kneeling on the ground, looking over Kalvya's sword, three knives, a short dagger, and her bow. Niegel did not realize that the girl was so heavily armed. She was clearly able to conceal weapons easily. Niegel began to be suspicious of who she really was. Unfortunately, he couldn't interrogate her. Niegel assumed that she could knock his brain out of his head and send him into insanity for the rest of his life, if he survived the experience. Female enemies were not to be underestimated.

Niegel sat on the ground, and drank a bit of water. He dropped the arrow he had collected on the ground, and then lay back onto the grass, watching the clouds float lazily by.

That night, Miardin had them build a small fire and cook some of the venison he had brought along. Niegel had set a few logs blazing with flint and steel, and was sitting on the grass, absorbing the warmth. His hands were shaking; the night had brought cold and wind. He had a few blankets with him, but he was afraid that they would not be sufficient against the chilling breeze. Kalvya sat a few feet away from him, her hood covering her head, her face almost entirely hidden. Miardin was turning the meat over the flames. The sky was nearly cloudless, which was odd considering most of the day it had seemed as though it was going to rain any moment, however the wind had pushed the clouds elsewhere, to the west. Silence reigned over the area, although a wolf had begun howling at the crescent moon. Miardin was silent, Kalvya had dropped her head onto her knees with exhaustion, and Niegel was now watching the embers throw sparks into the dark night.

A few minutes of silence, and Miardin pulled the meat from the flames. The horses stamped into the grass, their hooved feet making vibrations in the ground. Kalvya reached out and took some of the meat from Miardin's hand, and began slowly devouring it. Miardin offered him some of the venison, but Niegel only took a small portion. His appetite had decreased over the trip, and he felt nausea rising from his stomach. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to eat, he consumed the food quickly and then lay back on the ground, pain forcing his stomach to cramp. The hot food wasn't helping him at all. Suddenly he wondered if something may be seriously wrong with him. What if he had mental trauma from seeing his grandfather bloody and mutilated, tied to the ceiling. Suppose the event had caused something permanent in his mind?

Miardin seemed to notice the worry and frustration on his face. He looked at Kalvya, who was practically asleep, and said to him, "Don't worry about the past. Put your energy into now. You have grieved, and what's gone and done is over. It's more important that you are prepared for the future and not worrying about the past. Here," he reached into a small bag attached to his belt and withdrew a pinch of a grayish-yellow powder. "Place this in your mouth, drink water, and swallow it. It should help with the physical pain. I have had similar experiences as you and developed this over a few years. I guarantee it works."

Niegel nodded and accepted the powder, weighing it in his palm. It had a strange texture, almost like liquid but still in a solid form. He threw it back into his throat and sipped water from one of the skins. The taste was almost nonexistent. He felt no different, however, and lay back in the grass, one arm crossed over his chest and the other resting on his forehead.

Miardin remained awake throughout most of the night. Niegel eventually dropped into sleep, but it was fitful and unpleasant.

Fourteen hundred miles away, eastward of the Keidron Mountains, a lone horseman galloped at breakneck speed toward the south. His horse was not tiring from the journey, and he had covered much distance from when he had left. He was carrying a message from the North, of upmost importance. Though he didn't know that more than one person wanted to receive the parchment in question.

Niegel woke and found himself on his side, his face pressed against the grass. He righted himself and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He drank some water, then noticed that Kalvya and Miardin weren't there. Suddenly wide awake, he dropped the water flask and stood. The horses were still there, all three of them, and a freshly built fire was burning. He turned around, noticing nothing strange, then returned to his former position.

Niegel sat down, anger and hurt welling up inside him. They went somewhere without him! As if he wasn't even important! Fuming, he moved closer to the fire and pulled bread out from the saddlebags on the ground. Maybe he wasn't important, but he still wanted some respect. He hardly tasted the bread as he tore into it, waiting to demand an explanation when they returned. Suddenly remembering everything that had happened, his anger ebbed to be replaced by sadness. His grandfather had been viciously murdered, his home had been destroyed, and everything he had known was virtually gone. He reached back into his bags and removed the dragon egg, glinting in the early sunlight. The silver material seemed to have become more firm, solid. Niegel's birthday would be passing within a few weeks, and according to his grandfather and Miardin the egg would hatch then. Perhaps then he could find some happiness in the world.

Niegel realized that his life the past few days had been a circle. Cry about his experiences, become infuriated at someone or something, slow down aggression, sit down and think about everything in front of a fire. He needed to do something else. Something _fun. _Niegel stood from where he was and removed his bow from his bag, with four arrows. He picked out a tree along the edge of the forest, and settled down to take aim. A small knot in the trunk caught his attention. He moved his bow slightly downward, to push the tip of the arrow toward his target. He pulled back on the bowstring.

The arrow flew straight and hit the target dead on. Pleased with himself, Niegel moved back a few paces and resumed his stance. Fitting another arrow to the string, he prepared to fire again, when he heard a voice call his name. His previous rage returned as he recognized Miardin's voice. Letting the string release, he replaced the arrow to his quiver and stood, looking around for the source of the voice. Miardin had appeared at the edge of the trees, a few hundred feet away. Niegel felt an urge to shoot an arrow in his direction as a sign of his anger. Miardin began walking toward him, something slung over his shoulder. Kalvya appeared behind him. She was holding her bow, and her sword was clasped to her belt.

Niegel pushed his fury out and removed the string from his bow. Carefully pushing it back into the quiver, he began packing away the other items he had and throwing them in his mare's saddlebags. Miardin and Kalvya reached him, placing the things they carried on the ground. Miardin withdrew two rabbits, both shot in the neck with a clean shaft from a bow, from the bag he had slung over his shoulder. He began gutting and cleaning the bodies. "We will need food before we get to Yazakuis. This will serve our needs. However, Niegel, you seem upset. Do explain."

Niegel tried to regain his composure but was unable to. A forceful voice was the only thing possible for him. "Where did you go?" he said with as much self-control as he could manage. "Why did you think me not important enough to be awakened with you to go wherever you went? Why do you think so little of me?" Niegel's rage began appearing. "Why did you go somewhere off far away without even a note telling me where you went or why you went there?!" he clenched his fists. He could tell that Miardin did not find him intimidating, but that did not stop him from trying.

Miardin dropped the things he was holding to the grass, and gave Niegel a stern look. "As long as you are under my protection, I will not be spoken to in such a manner. It is a clear sign of disrespect, and I refuse to acknowledge such words. However, you are correct in one point. I will be sure to inform you should I be leaving you alone or with Kalvya for any length of time. Make sure you do not attempt to cause me grief again, boy." Miardin gathered up his bags and tools and began securing them to his horse.

Niegel scowled and began throwing his things into his bags. The only thing he took great care with was the silver dragon egg, a hard, neutral object in the conflict around it. Niegel felt a spark of excitement; his eighteenth birthday was in a few months, and then the egg would hatch.

Kalvya quickly and neatly packed her things away and latching them to her horse. Niegel filled the saddlebags and swung himself onto his mare. Disappointment roared through his mind.

They rode several miles before stopping again. Kalvya went off to find fresh meat, Niegel snapped up a fire, and Miardin was content with sitting and gazing at the sky. After a fast, hot meal and a few hours rest, they put out the fire and headed out again, and didn't stop until dusk.

The first sign of civilization in several days they had found was a small farm out a few miles from Yazakuis. A few horses ran around on a large fenced-in area, and a pair of adolescent boys were working in the fields. A woman sat on a rocking chair on the porch of the house, and a large barn rose behind that.

Miardin stopped them as they passed the boundary of the farm. He turned and said, "We are getting close. In less than half an hour, we will reach the town of Yazakuis. Kalvya, you must hide your weapons, however please keep a knife at least on your person at all times. Niegel, feel free to brandish your tools. If the people fear us then they will find no reason to harm us or assault us. I can't say the same for the people who are often in the bars, drinking themselves to death." He turned back around and began toward the town. Niegel and Kalvya followed close behind. "Also," he said, without looking at them. "I will not allow either of you to consume any alcohol. Do not ask, do not accept any invitations. And if you do, and I find out, you will not be continuing with me."

Miardin was silent for the remainder of the road.

When they reached the gates, only one guard, a rather elderly man, holding a spear and a hatchet, sat awaiting them. "Who comes to this town?" he called to them.

Miardin dismounted and walked to the man. "I am Kenton, and I travel south with my niece and nephew." The old man squinted at Miardin, then raised a hand and waved him on. Miardin returned to his horse under the questioning glance of Niegel.

"Why did you use my grandfather's name?" he demanded, muttering under his breath, only loud enough for his companions to hear him.

"He is dead, and because I needed a false name rather quickly. And the two of you better choose names for yourselves as well. Can't have anyone knowing things they shouldn't."

Niegel didn't like the explanation he received, but decided not to question anything. As they passed underneath the gates, instantly a wave of nausea hit Niegel. A horrifying smell reached them, as well as obvious sights of pain and poverty. A pair of very young boys sat in the dirt next to one house, a little girl was crying for her mother beside them. A woman dressed in dirty rags dashed toward the girl and swept her up in her arms. Niegel looked away. A few beggars sat against a house, one obviously lame and unable to move. Vagran only had beggars during the winter, when food and money was a difficulty, and even then peasants were very rare. Here, they seemed to rule the streets. As they passed an alleyway, several thin men looked at them. Two of them smiled, showing wicked-looking daggers hanging on their belts. Miardin sped them on.

"My contact is pretending to live as one of these folk," Miardin said quietly. "But in reality he has a large fortune that he seems intent on spreading around, but I think he may have missed this area.

"He will hold us until we are ready to leave once more, and I have a few things to take care of in this town before we head farther south. We will find you a few suitable weapons, Niegel, some that fit your skill and strength, and he can give us more information regarding the dragon egg. He has a few hundred elven books hidden away in his home, and they may help us unravel some of the mysteries. He would have sent me the information I would have liked, however it is difficult to get anything past the gates without it being destroyed by the violent beggars."

They rode through the town, making a few turns, and at one point Niegel noticed a massive wall, cutting off a section of the city, behind which was impossible to see. eventually Miardin called for a stop. "Here we are!" he said.

In front of them sat a small house, slightly larger than the others they had seen, but far more well-kept. Where the poverty had falling walls, and blankets covering windows, this home seemed to be solidly intact with no visible signs of wear, however it had no windows, and the door was quite securely shut. If it hadn't seemed far better than the other houses, Niegel would have said it was abandoned. He wasn't used to this; the poor in Vagran had more than even this house, it seemed as though this town was the definition of depression and pain.

They dismounted from their horses, and Miardin stepped up to the door. He knocked once, then three times, then four, then two. He stepped back. After a few seconds and almost no noise, the door opened. A man's face appeared in a small crack. He looked at Niegel, then Kalvya, and Miardin. A smile spread over his face as he saw the man. "Miardin!" he said, in a thick accent.

Miardin put a finger to his lips, and said, "Not here." The man nodded, and beckoned they come inside. Niegel tied up the horses to a small pole with ridges hacked into it, then followed them inside. A lantern hung from the ceiling to compensate for lack of windows, and the heat was overwhelming. A table sat in the middle of the room, with a few scrolls and books on it. A room was to the left, and another to the right, and in either a shaft of light streamed down in the middle, visible through the doors. Niegel realized that there must be holes in the roof, providing light and precious air.

The man who had greeted them closed and bolted the door. He turned and sat down in a chair. Niegel got a decent look at his complexion. The man was large, with a barrel-chested figure, quite a bit of muscle, and a heavy build. He was wearing a brown cloak with thin, long sleeves. A short beard grew from his face; his hair was a dark brown color, and his skin was deeply tanned from the long hours in the heat of the sun. he had a serious but mild expression, and he looked to have an injury in his left leg, Niegel assumed from the way he stood, leaning slightly to one side. The man looked friendly enough, but with the men Niegel had met recently, he decided not to make a judgment just yet. Miardin sat down at the table, followed by Kalvya and the other man. Niegel remained standing, leaning against the wall.

Several seconds of silence ensued. Miardin broke the quiet. "We need your help."

"I had surmised as much. How can I assist you?"

"An assassin has been chasing these two, and been looking for me. He killed Niegel's grandfather, destroyed his property and all he owned, and now we are fleeing to the southwest. Niegel needs training and weapons, Kalvya… Kalvya refuses to tell me she needs anything, only an escort to the south. Apparently she has unfinished business. What I need is to find the assassin. He's been assaulting our factions, he wants the Silvaris, and he can't have it, no matter the cost."

The man stared for a few minutes at Miardin, contemplating what had been said. "You ask of much. I can only provide assistance in a few areas, and the rest I cannot help you with. However!" He smacked the table with his hand. "You lot are tired from the road from Vagran, yes? I can provide food, water, rest, whatever you need. Your horses will be safe, your secrets as well. Come!" He stood from the table and walked into the room with the bed. Niegel followed him, wondering what this man could be on about, when he lifted the bed from one end, and pushed it against the wall, revealing a short staircase under the room. He jumped down into the pitch black passageway. "Follow closely, do not speak." Miardin followed his friend, Niegel allowed Kalvya to go, then, making sure nobody was following or watching, Niegel slipped inside the tunnel.

It was pitch black until Miardin's friend struck a match and created a wavering light from an oil lamp. The dim light stretched ahead of them. The tunnel was dank, musty, and the air was stale. It was hot, and the walls were dirt. Niegel immediately felt nausea from lack of air. "It is not far," the man said. "Stay close."

They walked, their heads a few inches from the earthen ceiling, it seemed to go on forever, a tunnel crossing underneath the city. Several minutes later, feeling more like hours to the hot and sweating pair of adolescents, light spilled into the tunnel. Niegel looked hopefully up ahead. He could see a set of cobblestone steps that lead upward.

The tunnel deposited them into the last place Niegel had expected to see.

A lavished, beautiful garden stretched around them, a hundred feet in each direction. Cobblestone pavement laced between rows of dazzling flowers and plants, hedges, short trees covered in blossoms of many colors. He heard Kalvya take in a deep breath beside him. Miardin looked surprised. "How much money have you made in the last four years, Heramak?" Niegel quickly memorized Heramak's name, stocking it into his store of mentality.

"Oh, a fair amount, you'd be surprised how many people are willing to pay me for my work. I've had a dozen ask for my services in the last week, and perhaps a month ago, I managed to acquire the funds to purchase this fine estate, whose previous owner perished a week beforehand of illness, or so I heard. I had a few willing servants who gladly came with me to my new home, and I had the tunnel constructed as a means of safety and secrecy. And should an emergency occur, I have three hidden rooms in the tunnel stocked with supplies."

Niegel was awed by the beauty of the garden, the bright plants bringing a joy to his eyes that he had not experienced in days. He asked Heramak, "What exactly is your profession, sir?" He wanted to sound polite, not only because courtesy demanded he be so, but he may be able to learn information about why Miardin trusted this man, if Heramak could believe that he trusted Niegel.

"My profession?" Heramak began, "I wouldn't call it a profession, so much as pure talent. I am a master swordsman, and I am paid quite a fortune to teach all the rich fools and their sons the art of swordplay and tactical defense. Luckily enough, I make more money from the fact that one of my servants was a master archer in the King's service a few years ago, and she is paid much as well. Now, if you will come with me, I will show you my estate and where you will be laying your head tonight!"

Niegel followed him back to the monstrous house, which looked to be at least three floors high, and at least a hundred yards wide, stretching across a massive expanse of land. Niegel wondered how he could have missed noticing such a structure, when he remembered the wall he had seen earlier that day. Turning around, he saw that an entire section of the garden was guarded by a massive stone wall covered in vines, with one archer tower spiraling up a hundred feet off the ground. Niegel was largely impressed by the sight, and the architecture, and was eager to see more. He had no idea what to expect when he first saw the city, but this was most definitely not it. Now he had high expectations for the other cities he was sure to see.

Niegel rushed back to the group, walking next to Kalvya, in high spirits.


End file.
